


It's all about the hair

by LondonGypsy



Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: Benedict has indeed very sensitive follicles, Benedict needs a haircut, F/M, First Kiss, Hair Pulling Kink, Sexy Times, fluff (a bit), i have no idea how to tag this, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-02
Updated: 2013-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-25 10:05:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/951818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LondonGypsy/pseuds/LondonGypsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Benedict at the hairdresser. His hairdresser is a fan. Shenanigans ensues. (Yes, I totally suck at summaries...as in really really suck!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's all about the hair

**Author's Note:**

> We all have seen the cuteness of B getting his hair washed in that STID thingy, right?!   
> (http://25.media.tumblr.com/25dcd2b7cd04d713e696e3e95e2416e6/tumblr_mruki8tRyE1su0gtzo4_1280.jpg)   
> Well, I am a hairdresser and that made me think, what could happen...  
> This is basically pure fantasy. Im sure, something like that would never happen. Although, as many know, the relationship between client and hairdresser is rather a close one, pretty intimate, just comes with the job so...  
> Anyhow, just a little something that played out in my head, written pretty much in one day.  
> As always, huge thanks to my beloved SuperWhoLockGypsy for the quick beta.

“Coffee, I need coffee,” I inform Janet as I stumble into work, hardly awake.

She looks at me, her eyes raking over my barely presentable appearance before she grins and hands me a mug.

“Uhhh,” I mutter, taking a sip.

Heaven in a cup.

“You're a life-saver, you know that?” I tell her, letting her drag me into our staffroom.

“I just figured you need that after your text at 3am.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me. I have the feeling I ought to check my outgoing texts and calls but I am scared.”

She laughs and pushes me down on a chair, her brush at the ready.

“Your first appointment is in half an hour so you have exactly 25 minutes to be coherent again,” she says while gently combing through the knots on my head.

“Hmmm.”

“Alexis, don’t you fall asleep on me,” she grumbles, fumbling and twisting, most likely making sure I don’t look like something the cat dragged in.

Working for – and with – Janet has its advantages, and right now I appreciate it a lot.

We met when we both started our apprenticeship and, having chosen the same profession, we bonded pretty quickly. We both have always wanted to be hairdressers and once we were done, she quickly decided to open up her own salon. Naturally she asked me to work with her. Of course I said yes; we were a great team and complemented each other well. She found a cute little place in Soho and we put all our sweat and tears into it, renovated it from bottom to top and made it exactly the place we've always wanted to work in.

Now, five years, later, our salon is one of the salons to go: quirky yet cozy, we know most of our clients personally; many have become friends over the years and there's always a family-like atmosphere.

We don’t make a fortune but we love what we do and that's all that counts.

“Alexis!”

Her voice pulls me back to reality and I blink up at her face.

“Yes, here, awake...well, mostly. Can I have another coffee? Please?”

Chuckling, Janet takes my mug and refills it.

“I hope that party was worth it,” she says, sitting on the countertop, grinning at me.

I mumble something into my coffee but the phone saves me from actually answering it.

Janet hops from the counter and strolls into the salon itself, which is still blessedly empty.

Mornings are usually quiet and at the moment I can't complain about that.

Sipping my coffee I listen as Janet takes that call cheerily and once again I wonder how she can be so awake that early.

I am more of a night owl, which is why I have the 'night shifts' as we call them. Soho is a busy part of town - pubs and bars stay open quite late, parties and events last deep into the night. So we went with that, opening a bit later than most other places and often staying open until ten or eleven in the evening.

Being the one that sleeps late and doesn’t go to bed before one am, I was perfectly fine with that. Janet has the mornings, managing the early risers by herself until I come in around noon. Most days she leaves at 7, leaving the evening clients to me. It's the perfect arrangement, although right now I would have preferred another hour of sleep.

“Yes, of course, that's no problem at all,” I hear Janet coo into the phone. There is something in her voice that makes me peek around the corner.

She is almost bouncing on her heels, her entire body vibrating with excitement.

“Wonderful... yes.. okay... see you later. Bye.”

She hangs up and does a little dance behind the counter.

“Are you quite well, Love?” I ask, wandering over towards her.

She giggles, nods and makes a note on our fancy appointment iPad.

“You'll never guess who just made an appointment for today?”

Rolling my eyes, I try to peak at the screen but she shoos me away.

“How am I supposed to know?” I ask, pouting a little.

She giggles again, shaking her head and swats my hand as I reach out for the computer.

“No, you don’t get to know until they're here. That's my punishment for you being hungover at a work day.”

“I am not hungover,” I protest but the chiming bell at the door interrupts our friendly banter.

“Ahh, and here's the lovely Cam for you,” Janet sing songs, waving at the young woman entering the salon.”

“Morning ladies,” she says, smiling at Janet and I.

“Morning Cam. I hope you don’t want anything too fancy this morning. Our lovely Alexis had a late night.”

I playfully elbow Janet in the ribs and motion Cam over to a chair.

“Don’t listen to her, I’m fine. Come on in, take a seat. I’ll just get another coffee and then we can get started.”

Cam grins at me, nodding understandingly.

“Don’t worry, nothing too fancy, I know you're not a morning person. Just a little trim.”

I wink at her.

“Thank goodness, you know me too well, Cammie.”

Laughter follows me as I walk into the staffroom to refill my mug and get my day started.

 

Four hours and a few haircuts later, I collapse on the chair behind the counter, waving at my last client as she leaves the salon. I watch the spring in her step as she turns to the right and vanishes out of view.

That's one of the things I love so much about my job: making people happy, seeing them leave the salon happy and smiling; it's the best reward one can get.

I grab the iPad to check who's next but there is only a big smiley.

“Jan?” I call out.

“Yes, Dear?” comes from the back.

“What's with the smiley at 5?”

“Oh, that's your special client today.”

I roll my eyes at that cryptic statement.

“Aren’t we a bit too old for games like that?” I ask.

“Shut up, you'll thank me later.”

Sighing, I glance at the clock: 15 minutes until that mystery client is due.

“Jan, I’m gonna pop out for a smoke, 'kay?”

I hear grumbling and grin; she hates that I smoke and can't do anything about it.

Grabbing what I need I open the door and step out, inhaling the warm summer air, sighing happily.

God, I love this city.

I wander down the street a little, drinking in the colourful storefronts, the business around me. It's almost like a little town itself; most people know each other, as they have had their shops here for ages. Once you've come here you don’t want to leave.

Lost in my thoughts I almost forget the time and as I hear the bell of a nearby church, I realize how far I've wandered.

“Shit,” I murmur to myself as I turn to hurry back to the salon.

I’m still a few metres away from the place as my attention is drawn to a man walking down the street away from me, looking around searchingly. Nothing unusual here and I can't for the life of me tell why he caught my eye, but there is something terribly familiar at the way he holds himself.

I slow down and watch him meander from one side of the street to the other, craning his neck to look at the signs of the shops.

There is... something that reminds me of someone, the wild mop of dark hair, the small waist, the way he moves.

He vanishes around a corner and I shake my head.

“Now you're hallucinating, Lexi,” I tell myself before I push the door to the salon open.

“Lex, that you?” I hear Janet call out as I enter the place.

“Yes, it's me.”

“Nice outside?” she asks as she appears from the back.

“Yeah, summer finally arrived,” I say, walking towards our room to wash my hands. Suddenly it hits me of who the man outside reminds me of.

“You know,” I muse, turning on the tap “I think I've just seen Benedict Cumberbatch walking around Soho.”

“Huh? Can't hear you over the water,” she calls out.

I turn off the tap and dry my hands, walking back into the main space.

“I think I've just seen Benedict Cumber … HOLY SHIT!”

I slap my hands over my mouth, staring at the man just entering the salon, his hand still on the door handle.

“Nah, it's Cumber _batch_ ,” he deadpans, cocking his head at me, a grin tugging at his lips.

All I can do is stare as he lets go of the door and steps fully inside, his eyes quickly scanning all over the place before they return to me.

“Hello,” he says, still smiling and I make an honest-to-god whimpering noise.

That voice. Jesus Christ.

“Lex, the door, can you have a look?”

Janet's words drift over from behind me, sounding far away.

I am still staring at him, frozen in shock.

“Alexis? You there? That should be...oh, hello.”

She appears right next to me and I can _feel_ her shooting me a glance before she elbows me discreetly in the side and walks over.

“Welcome Mr. Cumberbatch, it's a pleasure for our little salon to have you here.”

He nods and they shake hands.

“Excuse my colleague here, she's a big fan. She'll be fine in a second. Right, Lex?”

I nod mechanically, trying to calm my racing heart.

“Have a seat,” she says, leading him around me. I turn slowly, watching how she motions him to sit and then she looks at me pointedly.

Ah, right, yes.

I take a deep shuddery breath before I walk over on wobbly legs.

“Alexis will be your stylist today. Lex, Mr. Cumberbatch needs a dye and a trim...”

“Sherlock hair,” I blurt out, biting my tongue the second the words are out.

In the mirror Benedict raises an eyebrow at me and I scold myself internally.

“I am sorry,” I say shakily “I just need..., excuse me for a second.”

I flee into the staffroom, almost hyperventilating. I hear Janet apologize to him before her footsteps announce her arrival.

“Alexis! Are you okay? Perhaps I should have warned you but...”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I hiss through gritted teeth, “that's Benedict bloody Cumberbatch.”

I look at her with wide eyes and we both dissolve into manic – yet silent – laughter.

“I am really sorry, but you should have seen your face! I wished I could have taken a picture,” Janet wheezes, tears running down her face.

“God, he must think, we're totally bonkers...”

“He does not. He is quite used to that... although this might the most extreme reaction he had so far,” comes the deep voice from behind us.

There is amusement in his tone, which makes us giggles even more.

“Sorry,” we both call back simultaneously, and he laughs out loud.

“I don’t want to be a prick but I'm kind of on a schedule here...” he calls back, the smile still audible in his voice.

“Coming,” I say, wiping the tears from my face and glancing at the mirror, suddenly overly aware of my appearance.

“You're good,” Janet whispers, winking at me as she turns me and pushes me gently out.

My knees are still a bit weak but I have found my professional self again as I walk out.

“I am sorry, Mr. Cumberbatch, but it's not every day that a famous celebrity wanders in here,” I tell him as I approach him.

“I figured that,” he grins, holding out his hand.

“Call me Benedict, Mr. Cumberbatch sounds so formal.”

I take his hand, my inner fangirl melting a little at the touch.

“Alexis. Nice to meet you.”

There's a short moment when time freezes and nothing exists but him and me, his hand in mine, his eyes sparkling in the bright lights and a soft smile lingering over his lips.

The phone rings and makes me jump a bit. I glance over my shoulder but Janet waves me off, taking the call.

I let go of his hand and take a deep breath.

“Well then... So, you need your Sherlock hair, yes?” I ask, rounding the chair to have a look at the tousled mop on his head.

He chuckles and searches my eyes in the mirror.

“Yes. My usual hairstylist is indispensable. However, she recommended you. She said, you know each other? She wrote down what I'll be needing and how the dye has to be mixed. I have no clue what it means but she says you would know what do to with it.”

He digs through his pockets and hands me a piece of paper, covered in neat handwriting.

I recognize it immediately.

“Claire is your usual stylist?! Gosh, she never said a peep about that.”

He shrugs nonchalantly which makes me smile.

“But then again, I guess that's something you don’t tell everyone, do you?” I say, putting the slip aside and getting my comb.

“Okay, let me have a look. Only the tips, I suppose? Hair has to stay long, hmm?”

For a moment I forget who I have in my chair as I run the comb through his hair and inspect the cut.

“Okay, let's get started then. Be right back, gonna mix the dye. You need anything? Magazine? Drink?”

He shakes his head.

“I'm good, thanks.”

I walk over to our colour bar and set up everything I need, using the recipe Claire wrote down for me.

Blessed be the lovely Claire. We know each other from several seminars and became friends over time. She has a salon in North London, small but very elite, and I know for a fact that she has a few famous clients. But she never mentioned any of them and I'm not one to bug her for that.

Janet peaks around the corner.

“You okay? Recovered yet?”

I shoot her a glare but can't help the smile that spreads over my face.

“One day, woman, one day you'll get it all back.”

She cackles lowly.

“I knew you would lose it but this was priceless. Thank goodness I have it on good authority that he's quite good natured so I don’t even feel bad... for either of you.”

“When you least expect it...my revenge will be awful” I grumble at her as I head back but she only laughs.

“She's quite the tease, is she?” Benedict asks as I put the gown around him.

“She is,” I agree while putting on my gloves.

He falls silent as I start applying the dye so I leave him be. Nothing worse than a forced conversation. I work quickly and soon his head is covered in dark colour.

“I reckon you know the procedure. 30 minutes. You need anything?” I ask when I am done, wiping a splash of dye from his forehead.

“A coffee, please?”

“Sure. How d'you take it?”

He chuckles and searches my eyes in the mirror.

“Like Sherlock?! Deduce...” he rumbles, using the lower registers of that magnificent voice and I have to suppress a shudder.

I blush but I hold his gaze. No need to hide that I am familiar with his most famous role by now.

“Coming right up, sir,” I reply, winking at him before I leave.

Five minutes later he has his coffee: black, two sugars, obviously, and I collapse in the staff room, my legs suddenly not carrying me any more.

“Christ...” I mutter to myself as everything rushes down on me in full force.

Benedict Cumberbatch, the man I've always admired – and have a huge crush on - is my client today.

He's sitting only a few metres away and will be for a bit longer.

“You okay, Love?” Janet asks, coming into our room and sitting next to me, eyeing me carefully.

“Yes, just need to process that the man of my dreams is just sitting out there, getting his hair done by _me_.”

She laughs gently and pats my arm.

“You're doing fine. All right, I’m off. There are no more clients today for me. He is your last one as well, so close up after him and go home. Get some sleep... if you can.”

I look at her and dramatically put my hand on my chest.

“How am I supposed to sleep after this???”

We chuckle together before Janet grabs her purse.

“You'll manage. Just don’t molest him or anything, maybe he wants to come back.”

“Pfft, Claire is the one usually doing his hair, I don’t think he's going to trade her for us.”

She winks at me.

“You never know,” she says cryptically, but before I can ask her what she means, she's out of the room.

I hear her say goodbye to Benedict and his low reply, then the doorbell chimes, announcing her departure.

Slumping down in my chair, I stare at the opposite wall, still trying to process everything.

 

The soft beeping of the alarm clock tears me out of my thoughts and I jump to my feet, slowly walking back to have a look at the dye.

I almost lose it when I see Benedict. He's slouched down in his chair, his head tipped forward, his eyes closed and he's silently snoring.

I've heard a lot about people falling asleep at the hairdresser but I've never witnessed it myself.

He looks so young like this, all the creases and wrinkles that make his face so fascinating are smoothed out in his slumber. It would be a shame to wake him but the dye needs to be washed out.

And yet I just stand there, watching him, memorizing the sight of him, all sharp angles and harsh shadows, a soft glow on his skin from the setting sun outside.

He snuffles a bit and suddenly jerks up straight, his lids snapping open and for a second he doesn’t know where he is.

His hazy gaze falls on me, and I can see how he realizes where he is.

“Whoops,” he murmurs, lifting a hand, obviously wanting to run it through his hair.

Alarmed I take a step forward but he notices and lowers the hand again, grinning sheepishly.

“Short night, huh?” I say, walking over to inspect the dying process.

“Hmmm,” he nods, his lids fluttering sleepily.

“I feel ya. Same here. Come on, let's get that dye off of your head.”

I motion over to our sinks and he scrambles to his feet, stumbling over and falls heavily into the seat.

“Did I snore?” he asks as I start the water.

“Only a bit,” I reply, chuckling at his horrified expression.

“Blimey. Never happened before, don’t tell the press.”

“Dont worry, your secret is safe with me. Happens to the best,” I assure him.

I gently push his head back and let the warm water run over his hair, rinsing the dye out before I start shampooing it.

He lets out a low groan, startling me a bit.

“Everything all right?” I ask.

“God yes, I just love this part.”

He groans again, a smile playing over his lips as he sinks further into the chair.

“Oh, okay,” is all I can manage as I continue to massage his scalp.

Suddenly a quote pops into my head, something I read a while back about him and I can barely hold back the gasp that wants to escape my throat.

“Yes, it's true,” he murmurs and as I look down on him, he's looking up at me, his smile even more charming now that it's upside down.

“What is?” I ask innocently, trying to will the blush away that creeps up my neck.

“I do have very sensitive follicles, so be careful there...”

He has dropped his tone, his voice is as deep as it gets and the words roll off his lips like honey.

I bite my lip and avoid his eyes, looking down at my hands, covered in foam, the dark hair curling around my fingers like snakes.

I wrack my brain for something less dangerous to talk about but the content moans he makes are not helping. Images flash through my mind: hands buried in curly hair, bright eyes darkening with pleasure, nails raking over a naked back...

“Your boss left?” he suddenly asks, startling me again.

“Sorry? Oh yes, she did. You're my last client today and since I also had a late night... well, she's awesome like that,” I reply, desperately clinging to such a harmless conversation.

“She seems like. Although, I think, she's rather evil to a point. Not telling you, I mean...”

I laugh.

“Yeah, that's Janet but I love her so she's allowed to every now and then. She has to deal with me every day. Speaking of...uhm, listen, I apologize for my rather childish squeeing earlier, that was not very professional.”

He waves a dismissive hand through the air.

“Don’t worry, happens more often that I can count, I've got used to it. And you were rather cute earlier...”

His words trail off and I look down, meeting wide open eyes, looking up at me with a unreadable expression.

Heat creeps upon my cheeks and I look away.

“Uh, thanks... I think. Okay, one last round and then you're done.”

I squeeze conditioner on my hand, spreading it over his wet hair.

“Pity,” he murmurs, “I am enjoying this.”

I swallow hard; this feels like more than the usual client – stylist conversation.

Hesitantly I start massaging his scalp again, working the conditioner into his hair. Promptly he starts groaning again and his lids flutter closed as he relaxes even more.

“Seriously, this is the best part of all this,” he says, his voice a low purr that chases goosebumps over my skin.

“Well,” I say, struggling to control my voice, “that's the first thing you learn.”

“Washing hair?”

“Yes. At least I did. Most people want a firm wash and that's something one has to actually learn.”

“Hmmm, you're doing it perfectly.”

“Thank you.”

He falls silent while I run my fingers all over his head, drawing out the massage. It's a bit hypnotic; his hair under my fingers, the quiet appreciative noises he makes, mixing with the muffled sounds of the traffic outside. It feels like we're in a bubble of our own, far away from everything, the only two people in the world.

“Can't you do that all day?”

It is he who breaks the silence but his voice is hushed as if he doesn’t want to disturb the peacefulness between us.

“You can't pay me,” I tease but it comes out much more serious than intended.

He cranes his neck a bit, opening one eye to look at me and my breath catches in my throat at the speculative glance I can see there.

“You sure of that?” he mutters, the other lid flutters open, holding my gaze.

My fingers still and again time stops, just for a moment. There is something in his eyes that has me shudder and the air suddenly becomes too thick to breathe.

We look at each other, neither of us moving and suddenly I notice his own ragged breathing, see the hasty up and down of his chest.

The sound of an angry horn outside has us jump and brings me back to reality.

Looking away I turn on the water and quickly rinse his hair before wrapping a towel around it.

I take a step back, trying to center myself again.

Benedict doesn’t move for a long moment, just sitting there, the towel like a funny hat on his head.

Eventually he stands and slowly walks back to the chair, sitting down heavily.

Taking a steadying breath I follow him, avoiding looking at him in the mirror.

I towel off his hair and get my scissors.

“So,” I say, trying to sound normal again, “just a trim, yes?”

He nods but doesn’t say anything. I am too shaky to look at him so I start working silently.

It's hard.

The feeling of his hair under my fingers is tantalizing.

Every brush, every pull on it has him hum quietly. Every time my fingers brush over the soft skin of his neck or his cheek makes him clench his teeth. I don’t need to see it, I can feel the tension in his entire body.

He's not relaxed any more, something has changed.

Noticeably.

The air around us is charged, almost electric and one spark could blow it off.

I try not to think about it.

Eventually I am done and _have_ to look into the mirror to check my work.

Steeling myself I look up only to be instantly greeted by two bright eyes, staring back at me.

I manage a weary smile and concentrate on the cut, checking whether the length is correct, all the time overly aware of his gaze following my every move.

The haircut is good and I exhale, taking a step back.

“Done,” I say, my own voice sounding foreign as I take off his gown.

He stays put, not moving a muscle; only his hands are clenched around the armrest of the chair.

I glance into the mirror, afraid that he doesn't like my work but his eyes are still on me, watching me silently.

“Uhm,” I gesture towards the mirror but he ignores it completely.

Slowly, so very slowly he stands up and turns around, his eyes instantly finding mine again.

His gaze has something predatory now; it makes me shiver helplessly.

He sees it and smiles darkly as he takes a step further, and another, until he's right in front of me. I have to look up to hold his gaze.

I can smell him now, a musky scent which unfurls a desire in my stomach, a burning need I am barely able to control.

“What if I don’t want to be done?” he asks lowly, taking one more step, forcing me to take one back to not be pressed against his chest.

His scent is surrounding me, I can feel the warmth radiating from his skin, it's a bit dizzying.

“Sorry, what?” I croak, briefly wondering if I'm dreaming this.

He tilts his head, his eyes narrow as they slide over my face, registering the blush, seeing the hammering pulse on my neck.

Slowly he reaches out, pushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers brush only slightly over my skin but his touch feels electric and I can't suppress the quiet moan that slips free.

I have fantasized about those hands quite a bit but never in a million years thought, they would touch me like this.

“You're even cuter when you blush,” he rumbles, his finger trailing down my jaw and over my neck, leaving me shivering in their wake.

I couldn’t even move if my life depended on it. All I can do is stare at his face, his gorgeous eyes, his beautiful mouth.

“Don’t wanna go,” he mutters hoarsely, his hand resting on my shoulder now, his thumb drawing tiny circles over my clavicle.

I swallow hard, trying to form a coherent sentence but it's difficult with him so close that I can almost taste his breath.

“Didn't you...” I start, stumbling over the words,” didn’t you say that you have a schedule for today?”

I frown; what the hell am I doing here? I don’t want him to go anywhere, let alone anywhere I am not.

His nearness is breathtaking, his multi-coloured eyes are dark and deep and for one moment I get lost in them.

“Fuck that, I have better things to do right now,” he growls roughly.

“Have you now?” I manage to say, a sudden rush of adrenaline making me light-headed.

“Oh yeah,” he drawls, letting his hand slide from my shoulder over my back before he abruptly pulls me close against his chest.

“And what would that be?”

His other hand slides over my arm, up and up, coming to rest in the nape of my neck. His touch chases shivers down my spine and I melt against him, heat pooling in my stomach.

He smirks, the creases around his eyes deepening, giving him a boyish look.

“Well, how about ruining the perfectly styled hair?” he suggests quietly, the hand on my back pulling me even closer.

“That would be a shame,” I reply weakly, my own hands searching for a hold in his shirt.

The smirk widens and he leans down, his gaze darkening as it darts over my lips.

“Such a shame,” he whispers before he closes the distance between us and kisses me.

His lips are soft as they brush over mine, just teasing, but then he moans and his hand slides into my hair, pulling me as close as possible, urgency suddenly seeping into the kiss.

I melt against him, my mind an empty, buzzing space, filled with the feeling of being kissed like this. My legs get all wobbly but his strong arm around me keeps me up.

Benedict hums lowly, the vibrations spreading from him to me, making me shake in his arms. My own arms are still trapped between our bodies but I manage to slide them up, burying my hands in his warm hair. I feel him chuckle into the kiss. Remembering what he said earlier I tug gently on the handful of hair.

He groans loudly, his grip tightens around me and I feel the hardness in his trousers.

Oh.

He pulls back, only a tiny bit to look at me.

I gasp.

Lust and arousal have darkened his eyes, passion has taken over his beautiful face and there is a dangerous tinge in his voice as he says warningly:

“Don't do that unless you want to take this further.”

A heavy shudder wrecks my body, desire spiking up and I tug again on his hair, just a bit harder than before.

I'm rewarded with another dark growl and he's kissing me again, hard and fierce. His tongue is finding its way into my mouth, tangling with mine all while he's still lowly groaning.

It's hot and dirty and the sexiest kiss I've ever had.

I cling to him, letting him ravish my mouth, having his way with me, and he takes what he wants.

His erection is pressing hard against my hip and he starts rubbing it in slow circles against me, making me arch into him.

“Is there a place we can go?” he asks breathlessly between kisses, “somewhere with curtains, perhaps?”

I glance over his shoulder towards the wide window front and chuckle.

“Not much of an exhibitionist, are you?!” I tease as I reluctantly let go of him.

“It is my job to be a bit, but I'd rather do this in private,” he murmurs, adjusting himself.

“Staffroom,” I say, nodding towards it, “we have a sofa in there. Just let me close up...”

I stumble to the door and lock it quickly, switching off the lights as well.

Taking a deep breath I turn around – just to promptly get the air knocked out of my lungs again.

Benedict hasn't moved; he's watching me closely but he has started to open the buttons on his shirt.

Hypnotized I watch as he reveals marble skin as he goes. He drops the shirt carelessly on the floor, his raised eyebrow a clear invitation.

“Back. Now,” I manage to say, scurrying over to him and dragging him with me into our room, closing the door behind us.

“This day turned out much better than I had hoped this morning,” I tell him, pushing him down onto the sofa.

He sprawls all over the cushions, smiling seductively up at me, his long fingers sliding over the hem of his trousers.

“You want to stand there all day?” he asks hoarsely.

It takes only one heartbeat to cross the room and fall on top of him. He catches me easily, his mouth finding mine instantly, his long legs wrapping around mine.

He shifts us around until we're pressed together, stretched out on the small sofa.

He's warm and strong, his hands quick as he makes short process with our clothes.

“Do you have...?” I ask, as he's kissing down my neck, his hands running eagerly over my back.

“Hmm, yes.”

He lets go of me and reaches out to pull his abandoned trousers close, fumbling through the pockets until he finds what he needs.

I hum against his shoulder as he pulls the condom on, his hands shaking a little.

He turns to kiss me again, deep and languid, making me moan into his mouth. He rolls on top of me, and the feeling of his skin against mine is incredible.

I arch into him, wanting to feel him but he pulls back, looking down at me, his hands palming my face to keep me still.

“I've been wanting this since the second I laid eyes on you,” he murmurs, leaning down for another long kiss, my surprised gasp drowning in his own low groans.

“The way you were touching me, running your hands through my hair and the knowledge I couldn’t do anything, couldn’t touch you like I wanted to, was driving me mad.”

I wriggle my hands free and slide them into said hair, lightly scratching my nails over his head, making him whimper.

Smiling I pull on the strands between my fingers and he cries out, his back arching up, his erection pressing hot and throbbing against my thigh.

“Christ, you're killing me...”

“Stop talking then and do something about that,” I whisper against his neck, licking and kissing the soft skin there.

He growls and pushes my legs further apart, his breath ghosting hot over my skin. With one swift motion he has taken hold of himself and pushes steadily into me, leaving me not much time to adjust. But I don’t care, it feels too damn good, being filled like this, finally feeling him inside.

“Oh God yes.”

I can't tell who uttered those words, could have been either of us, but as he starts moving, not even trying to take it slow, my world blurs.

Everything is Benedict: scent, taste, touch, and it's glorious. Sweat is soon slicking his movements, making his skin glisten in the low lights of the room, his curls plastered to his forehead, his fingers digging deep into my shoulders, holding me tightly.

I wrap my legs around his narrow waist, pulling him even closer, my hands finding their way back into his hair, tugging not so gently on it.

His thrusts get harder, he starts panting and I have the feeling he is that close to losing control.

“C'mon,” I whisper in his ear, “... take what you need.”

His eyes snap open, and he looks up, searching my face. I nod gently and then he lets go, pushing wildly into me, not holding back any more.

“Yes,” I breathe, meeting his thrusts with mine, feeling him shaking heavily in my arms.

My ears are filled with the sounds of his erratic pants, the slap of flesh against flesh and I murmur encouragements against his neck. I feel like liquid under him, feel every inch of his skin against mine, every nerve is tingling.

I am close but I know he is even closer. I sneak a hand between us, letting his movements help. It takes only a few trusts and I am there, falling over the edge, his name on my lips like a prayer.

I’m clenching around him, and then his head falls back, his long neck taut as a string, eyes screwed shut in ecstasy.

He cries out, hoarse and raw, burying his face into my neck and then he goes rigid, pressing as deep into me as possible.

A bone-crushing shudder runs through him and then he collapses on top of me, his breath coming in short, hasty puffs that feel heavenly against my own heated skin.

We lay there in silence, clinging to each other while our hearts slow down again. He shifts and rolls off of me, always keeping his arms around me.

I slide my fingers through his hair again, absently playing with it; I just can't keep my hands off of it.

Benedict is making content purring noises, snuggling closer, his hums vibrating pleasantly through my over-sensitive body.

“You sound like a big cat,” I tell him sleepily, feeling the answering chuckle run through him like a wave.

“You're treating me like one with all that petting and ear scratching,” he mumbles, his hands drawing lazy patterns on my stomach.

“Perhaps you are one,” I ponder, smiling at him.

“Perhaps,” he replies, pushing his head further into my hand, which makes us both laugh.

Silence falls again until he eventually stirs and wriggles to find a better position; he's too tall for our small sofa.

Sighing I untangle myself from him and sit up, reluctantly letting go of his warm body.

He makes a protesting noise but then sits up himself, stretching, and I can hear the kinks cracking in his back.

“I am getting to old for this.”

I raise an eyebrow at him.

“For shagging?”

He elbows me amiably in the side and fishes his pants off of the floor and pulls them on.

“Shagging on a too small sofa when I have a perfectly fine bed for that.”

There's something in his tone that has me look up at him.

He's watching me closely, his trousers forgotten in his hands.

I am pretty sure I can see a plea in his eyes and as I stand up, he holds out his hand to me.

“Is that an offer, Mr. Cumberbatch?” I ask quietly as I take it and am pulled against his strong chest.

“If you want...”

It's uttered very silently and I wrap my arms around his waist, for a moment taken aback at the sentiment I can hear in his voice.

So not just a shag out of the heat of the moment.

“I would love to.”

Benedict exhales and presses a kiss on top of my head.

We get dressed in silence, I collect my bag and he stuffs his phone back in his pocket.

“What about your other appointments?” I ask him as we leave the salon and I lock the door behind me.

He blushes and avoids my eyes, watching the cars pass by.

He murmurs something and I lean closer.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear that.”

“I-might-have-lied-to-get-you-back-to-me-as-quickly-as-possible” he rattles down, his face crimson now.

I laugh out loud; God, he is adorable.

“So, what do we do now?”

He looks back at me, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes that makes my heart skip a beat.

“Dinner?” he asks in his best Sherlock voice, trying to look innocently but I can see the corners of his mouth twitch with amusement.

My answer comes quickly and naturally.

“Starving.”

He giggles happily and it's the most beautiful sound I have ever heard.

And as he holds out his hand, I take it, a warm fire blooming in my stomach.

Twining his fingers with mine, Benedict smiles at me and tugs me gently along.

Behind us the sun is setting, painting Soho's streets in a soft orange light, the evening traffic the soundtrack for a beautiful evening.

 

 


End file.
